


Two Wrongs Make a Right

by alyjude_sideburns



Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: M/M, The Sentinel Secret Santa 2019
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21644560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: Jim has to come up with a Christmas gift for Sandburg
Relationships: Jim Ellison/Blair Sandburg
Kudos: 7





	Two Wrongs Make a Right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magician](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magician/gifts).



> Happy Holidays Magician!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays, Magician!

****

** TWO WRONGS MAKE A RIGHT **

  
_  
Versimilitude: Philosophical notion that some propositions are more or less true than other propositions. The problem of verisimilitude is the problem of articulating what it takes for one false theory-   
_  
Damn, trying to find something for the guy at any time is rough but at Christmas? Yeah, I hit a brick wall every year. A highly decorated brick wall, mind you, with a lovely string of old-fashioned Christmas lights and bright, shiny little ornaments between each bulb. That beautifully adorned brick wall is the reason I'm braving the Christmas crowds instead of stretched out on the sofa at home, a hot toddy in one hand and my hot looking partner in the other. So here I stand, in Murdoch's, the oldest - and one of the last remaining full-service department stores in the country - in order to scale that damn wall; decorations and all. As Murdoch's loves to say; _"If you can't find it here, it doesn't exist anywhere!"_ But have I found _the_ gift for Sandburg yet? No. All I see all around me is that be-decked barricade - and the lady spraying perfume over everyone.

I'm surrounded by a hoard of shoppers and can't move. They're rushing to the left, the right, and crossing in front and behind me, which means it's taking every ounce of self-control I've got not to pull a sentinel-sized freak-out by pulling my gun and fire it in the air just to get them to stop for one blissful minute. Not that they would; they're too intent on finding Aunt Minnie's mittens and Uncle Xavier's Xbox - and they don't even like Uncle Xavier. Of course, shooting off my gun wouldn't be a good idea anyway. First there'd be all that paperwork for discharging my weapon, and then there's the fact that I'm on the first of four floors and don't really want a wayward bullet to hit Santa while on temporary duty in the toy department on the second floor.

Although...the headlines _would_ be both interesting and original....

**"CASCADE POLICE DETECTIVE SHOOTS THE MURDOCH SANTA!"**

No, that's too many words - newspapers like brief, eye-catching headlines - with alliteration. They love their alliteration. Okay, so...how 'bout this....

**"MURDOCH'S SANTA MURDERED BY MARAUDING MOOSOR!"**

Still too many words but nailed the alliteration. Of course, most of Cascade would be rushing to look up _moosor_...myself included because for the life of me, I can't remember. Blair beat me and Simon in a recent game of Scrabble with that word, but you know, I'm still pretty sure it shouldn't have been allowed. I challenged it, which was stupid considering it was Sandburg, and by the way, just when did Simon start taking Sandburg's side anyway? At at two to to one, I didn't even bother to look it up. And again, it was Sandburg, who knows words that haven't even been invented yet - the little shit. On the other hand, when I do remember what I've picked up from the guy, I'm a wealth of useless information; a regular trivia trove ... no, that should be a trove of trivia.

You know, I think the perfume's getting to me because l no longer remember what I was mind-talking. That's a Sandburg word, by the way. It means talking to yourself, duh.

Oh, wait ... I remember now; headlines. Okay, so no pulling my gun, but am l proud of my alliteration or what? Even though the cloud of perfume is undoubtedly killing off brain cells. Why do they have to spray everything that walks in the door? Is it some kind of initiation ritual?

Jeez, I even sound like Sandburg now. And I've lost my mind-thread...again. What was I grumbling about? Oh, yeah, perfume purveyors. Ah, alliteration again. Sandburg would be so proud.

Not to change the subject, but not only do l now have a sentinel-grade headache, but when Sandburg gets a whiff of me, he'll think I've been with a woman...or seven... and kill me. Wait...here comes another headline....

**Cascade Cop Killed by Curly-haired Companion!**

I'm really getting good at this alliteration thing, aren't I? But that's what the newspapers love, right? Right. And yeah, I know he'd never think I'd been with a woman because he trusts me, as well he should. But he'll wonder. Mmm...but would he ask? Interesting question. He might - in a strictly scientific way of course. You know, for research? This would be a good time to snicker.

All right, I need to stop letting my brain run amok because I've got some amok-running of my own to do. I've got to find my guy a gift - was that more alliteration? Don't answer that, just move; **NOW**!

Okay, okay, you don't have to yell at yourself.

Hey, wait a minute...don't I know her?

Well, I'll be damned. If it isn't Chancellor Edwards, as I live and breathe.

Huh-oh...I shouldn't be thinking what I think I'm thinking even though my hand just went to my holster which signals I'm thinking exactly what I thought I was thinking and I need to stop thinking that thought. I need to think about something else; anything except what I'm thinking.

_Remember why you're here remember why you're here remember why...._

Oh yeah, a gift for that hard-to-buy-for companion of mine. The one who won't kill me even though I smell like a harem.

Wait a minute...wait just one minute...oh, man...James Joseph Ellison, you're brilliant. Which means I'm brilliant because I'm James Joseph Ellison and I had the brilliant thought! Could it be too brilliant - that thought I just had? I mean, what I'm now thinking? It's something totally unexpected - for me, anyway.

_"...he produced wonderfully painted pictures, which were exhibited by him in some sort of small closed box through a very small aperture, with great verisimilitude...."_

And I am thinking what I'm thinking because that Sandburg sentence just popped into my head. Why, one might ask? Because Evil Edwards is standing at the jewelry counter and, thanks to a Saturday with Sandburg spent discussing artists and their works, that sentence of Sandburg's popped into my head, thus bringing about the unexpected thought - which may just become the best gift ever.

Oh, this is going to be so good.

* * *

"Come on, what did you get me?"

Jim put the Sunday paper down, gave the typical put-upon sigh, and said matter-of-factly, "Do you realize that for the last eight years, you've asked that question every single one of the twelve days before Christmas?"

"No, I didn't realize that, but I know you just used twenty-two words - counting a contraction - to tell me what should've taken you just one word; 'no.' I won't say that's a record for you, but if we go back those same eight years, we'd find all you've ever said - and all you've ever needed to say, and remember this for the future; just - say - no." He reached over and snitched the piece of toast Jim had just carefully buttered and, while smearing strawberry jam on it, added, "Nope, not a record, Jimbo, but close." Before Jim could reclaim his toast, Blair added, "So yeah, I'm guessing if we add up all twenty-two words, it'd definitely spell 'no', as in you won't tell me what you got me."

Not the least bit confused by Sandburg's subject-hopping, Jim waited until Blair was about to stick the toast in his mouth before snatching it back. He took a healthy bite and, after chewing with deliberate slowness, he swallowed and asked, "What were you asking about, again?"

Blair stuck out his tongue, pushed back his chair, got up, went into the kitchen, put two pieces of toast in the toaster and, while they toasted, he turned and rested casually against the counter. "You really are a jerk and I want that noted for the record."

With an expression of faux puzzlement, Jim made a show of looking around the apartment before shrugging his shoulders. "It's funny, Chief, but I don't see a judge or court reporter anywhere, so just where do you want your statement noted?"

The toast popped up at that moment so Blair gingerly removed them, and because he forgot his plate, grabbed a paper towel. Using it as a plate, he walked back to the table, took his seat and, with his own deliberate slowness, plus a pinch of nonchalance, started buttering his just-right toast. "Why, Santa's record of course. You know, the naughty or nice one? I want to make sure he understands.... " His voice trailed off. He blinked a couple of times, then shrugged his shoulders. "Shit, I don't even remember what we're talking about."

Laughing, Jim reached over and took the other piece of Blair's toast - just managing to evade the knife Sandburg was using in an attempt to stop him by slapping the back of his hand. "How old are you again?" Jim asked even as he waved the toast in a 'don't bother to answer' kind of way. "Don't bother to answer, it doesn't matter how old you get, you'll never be older than twelve." He quickly buttered and jammed his toast before it could be snatched back by its owner. "Besides, twelve or...." He made a show of counting the fingers of his left hand, "thirty-five, who says I even got you a present? We're both too old for such nonsense."

"First of all, I'm not thirty-five, I'm thirty-four, and second, however old I am you're always going to be a lot older and I call bullshit on us being too old for gifts. Two hundred will never be too old. But thank you for reminding me of what I was talking about; so tell me what you got me for Christmas."

"Fine, you want to know, don't want to be surprised come Christmas morning, then so be it, I'll tell you." He took a deep breath---

"Wait a minute, you're not really going to tell me, are you? You're not giving up that easy, are you? Big bad Jim Ellison surrenders after an argument that doesn't even mount a hill of beans? Tell me it ain't so!"

"'Mount a hill of beans'? Was that a Freudian slip, Chief? A sexual Freudian slip?"

"Why, whatever do you mean? I'm still eating so why would I be throwing around sexual Freudian slips?" He rubbed his nose thoughtfully. "Or should I be throwing 'Freudian sexual slips' around?"

"Now _I've_ forgotten what we're talking about. But hell, sexual was in the conversation so I say let's finish our toast and then enjoy our Sunday by going back to bed and doing some Freudian sexual slipping."

Blair shoved his toast straight into his mouth, chewed fast and quickly swallowed. Jumping up, he gave a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. "Race?"

"You're on."

As they pushed and shoved their way towards the stairs, Blair yelled, "Top! Dibs on top!"

"Winner tops," Jim yelled back.

  
End Part One - Part Two to follow 

  
  


* * *


End file.
